P   S 

3545 

08 

M6 

1903 

MAIN 


OSES 


Rocky  Mountain 
4   •    Sketch   .    * 


EDGAR  W*  WORK 


^«fcl<&  ••"* "S^'^^r*  XiS 

O  %91         *^  '  ^  Vv^>  O  ^t<  «cW^    ''WCvSa^'^^ 

sw^fes^s^^ 


"MOSES" 


A    ROCKY    MOUNTAIN 
SKETCH 


SECOND     EDITION 


BY     EDQAR     W.     WORK 


Copyright,  1903. 

Edgar  W.  Work 
Berkeley,  (Jal. 


Published  by  the 
Woman's  fllMsstonarE  Society 

OF  THE 

Jfirst  Presbyterian  Cburcb  of 
California 


327795 


DEDICATION. 

To  THE  friends  and  helpers  of  Home  Mis 
sions  everywhere,  and  especially  to  the  Woman's 
Missionary  Society  of  Berkeley,  this  little  story 
of  the  Lord's  work  in  our  own  western  land 
is  affectionately  dedicated. 


'MOSES' 

A   ROCKY   MOUNTAIN   SKETCH 


The  scene  was  one  which  memory  will  always 
cherish.  It  was  more  than  Edenic,  except  that 
we  have  never  thought  of  Kden  as  among  the 
mountains.  There  were  a  mountain  lake,  and  a 
mountain  village,  and  mountain  people,  and, 
above  all,  there  were  the  mountains  themselves, 
than  which  God  has  made  nothing  greater  in  this 
inanimate  world,  the  ocean  not  excepted. 

At  the  time  of  the  opening  of  this  tale  of  the 
mountains,  it  was  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
The  afternoon  sun  lay  aslant  the  little  mountain 
lake,  and  spread  itself  like  a  carpet  of  gold  over 
the  cabins  of  the  miners  that  made  up  the  vil 
lage.  The  gray  peaks  that  shut  in  the  view  on 
the  farther  side  already  shone  russet  and  gold  in 
the  sleeping  rays  of  the  waning  day. 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

If  the  soul  of  the  miner  had  not  been  made 
sordid  by  his  search  for  gold,  every  day  must  have 
belonged  to  the  halcyon  days,  under  the  shadow 
of  those  mighty,  solemn  mountain  summits,  which 
daily  mirrored  themselves  in  the  placid  waters  of 
the  little  lake.  In  the  morning,  when  the  door  of 
the  cabin  was  opened,  the  fresh  sunlight  poured 
in  past  the  gray  mountains.  Later,  the  grays 
gave  way  to  deep  blues  and  purples,  and  toward 
evening  each  separate  summit  seemed  to  be  an  in 
exhaustible  mine  of  gold.  Such  silencos  as  in 
habited  that  mountain  scene!  The  only  sound  of 
disturbance,  whatsoever,  was  the  sound  of  human 
carousal,  for  the  village,  innocent  looking  as  it 
was,  contained  the  elements  of  flame  and  explo 
sion.  Nightly,  the  year  around,  including  Sun 
day,  the  saloons  and  gambling  places  were  like 
a  pent-up  hell.  Toward  the  small  hours  of  the 
night  the  flames  usually  burst  forth,  and  often  the 
miners'  village  was  more  like  pandemonium  than 
a  natural  Kden.  Yet  nature  never  lost  her  quiet 
calm  and  self-possession  in  that  high  altitude. 

The  noise  and  alarm  and  sin  of  man  could  not 
break  the  native  silences  of  those  rock  ribbed  hills. 


"Jfoses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

Here  and  there  among  the  rough  mining  men  was 
one  whose  poetry  of  soul  had  not  yet  been  buried 
beneath  the  avalanche  of  sin.  To  such,  the  scenes 
and  sounds  of  nature  would  often  appeal,  to  soften 
hearts  that  were  already  grown  too  hard.  The 
deer  trod  noiselessly  the  pathways  of  pine  needles. 
The  mother  grouse  called  her  brood  about  her  in 
the  thick  growth  of  quaking  aspens.  The  beaver 
swam  cautiously  to  and  fro  in  the  lake,  building 
his  curious  home.  The  splash  of  the  oar,  or  the 
swish  of  the  fisherman's  line,  or  the  click  of  his 
reel  were  sometimes  heard.  In  the  night-time 
the  brush  of  the  owl's  wings  momentarily  dis 
turbed  the  sleeper,  as  the  bird  of  the  night  has 
tened  his  flight  past  an  open  cabin  window. 
Sometimes  the  dogs  rushed  out  to  attack  a  por 
cupine,  but  soon  returned  in  painful  repentance. 

The  thunder  often  rolled  like  distant  cannonad 
ing  in  the  far-away  summits,  never  yet  touched 
by  foot  of  man,  deepening  and  emphasizing  the 
silence. 

A  flower-bespangled  scene,  too!  Along  the  way 
to  the  cold  spring,  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the 
edge  of  the  village,  one  could  count  a  score  and 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

more  of  varieties  of  flowers,  some  of  them  so  mod 
est  and  fairylike  as  to  fail,  almost,  of  attracting 
the  eye. 

The  wild  geranium,  the  mountain  aster,  the 
Indian  pink,  the  elk  flower,  the  bluebell,  the  blue 
flax,  were  there.  And  the  columbine! — rich  rare 
flower  of  the  mountains,  clad  sometimes  in  royal 
white  and  blue,  again  in  gorgeous  red  and  yellow. 

Far  up  the  mountain  sides,  where  timber  ceased 
to  grow,  and  bare  rocks  held  sway,  myriads  of 
tiny  blue  forget-me-nots,  fragrant  as  hot-house 
violets,  taught  anew  the  lesson  of  the  survival  of 
beauty  above  the  roughness  of  the  world.  "Some 
root  of  knighthood  and  of  nobleness"  is  in  the 
world  still,  so  taught  our  poet-optimist. 

The  pine  forests,  rich  and  fragrant,  the  sky  both 
near  and  clear,  the  limpid  waters  that  seemed  able 
to  reflect  even  the  contents  of  the  soul,  the  pure 
air  that  seemed  to  tingle  in  each  least  capillary 
between  vein  and  artery,  the  freedom  and  vast- 
ness  and  solemn  goodness  of  the  mountains  them 
selves  that  brushed  away,  perforce,  every  false 
human  conventionality,  yet  kept  each  proper  re 
straint  of  goodness  and  opened,  as  it  seemed, every 

8 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

wide  doorway  of  the  heart  for  the  entrance  of  true 
thought— these  were  the  finishing  touches  of  na 
ture  in  this  scene  of  the  heart's  culture. 

Our  romance  of  the  mountains  might  be  left 
just  here,  perhaps  preferably  so,  for  no  romance 
is  so  perfect  as  that  of  nature.  When  man  steps 
in,  there  is  more  or  less  disturbance.  Yet,  hap 
pily,  there  are  everywhere  to  be  found  the  ele 
ments  of  human  romance.  Out  there  in  the  moun 
tains,  far  away  from  the  older  centers  of  civiliza 
tion,  where  nature  is  wild  and  animals  are  wilder, 
and  man  is  often  the  wildest  of  all,  there  are  men 
who  are  walking  the  heights  of  heroism,  with  a 
light  upon  their  faces  never  seen  on  land  or  sea. 
Yet,  all  unconscious  of  their  merit,  like  him  of 
the  shining  face  whose  story  is  in  Holy  Writ, 
they  work  the  works  of  Him  that  sent  them. 

The  mountains,  they  say,  will  either  make  or 
mar  a  man.  Perhaps  it  is  a  question  of  original 
endowment.  A  good  man  will  grow  better,  and  a 
bad  man  worse  in  the  high  altitudes,  where  breath 
ing  and  all  else  means  struggle. 

It  was  such  a  man — a  man  with  the  stuff  that 
is  heroic,  packed  away  beneath  his  well-knit,  ath- 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

letic  frame— who  arrived  in  the  village  of  Gold- 
ton  on  that  afternoon,  years  ago.  There  are  still 
remaining  some  who  can  tell  you  how  he  looked 
the  day  he  came.  Not  that  he  received  any  spec 
ial  welcome;  on  the  contrary,  nobody  cared  at  all. 
In  the  saloons  and  gambling- places  the  miners 
made  merry  over  his  coming  about  their  tables 
on  the  evening  of  his  arrival.  They  at  once  gave 
him  a  name.  They  dubbed  him  'Moses."  "Be 
cause,"  said  a  rough-shod  miner,  with  some  remi 
niscence  of  his  early  Bible  knowledge,  *  'because 
he's  come  up  into  the  mountains  to  receive  the 
law." 

"And  he'll  receive  it,  too,  quicker  than  he 
thinks,"  said  another  with  flushed  cheeks  and  eyes 
that  flashed  fire.  "We'll  teach  him  the  law  fast 
enough."  It  was  a  long  time  before  "Moses,"  as 
they  ever  afterwards  called  him,  heard  of  this 
conversation.  He  might  have  suffered  a  momen 
tary  tremor,  if  he  had  heard  it  sooner,  but  it 
would  have  made  no  difference  in  his  plans. 
There  is  no  use  to  pretend  that  this  missionary 
was  superhuman.  Nothing  of  the  sort.  He 
was  very  human  ;  but  it  was  a  fine  kind  of  hu- 


10 


,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 


inanity  that  ran  in  his  veins  and  arteries,  and 
knitted  his  bones  together.  He  was,  of  course, 
from  one  of  the  eastern  States.  Everybody  in 
the  West  looks  back  over  his  shoulder  at  the 
East.  His  family  was  as  good  as  any  other,  the 
matter  of  family  merit  being  largely  imaginary, 
anyway.  The  worth  of  the  man  rests  with 
himself. 

When  John  Compton  —  that  was  his  name  — 
graduated  from  college  and  later  from  the  theo 
logical  seminary,  people  expected  him  to  step  at 
once  into  a  pulpit  in  one  of  the  larger  towns. 
John  Compton  had  no  such  notion.  He  gradu 
ated  in  May,  spent  the  summer  months  resting  at 
his  father's  home,  married  the  woman  of  his  choice 
in  August,  and  immediately  afterwards  the  newly 
wedded  pair  turned  their  faces  toward  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  to  evangelize  in  that  far-away  land. 
It  was  years  ago,  as  we  have  intimated,  and  it 
may  be  inferred  that  the  bridal  trip  was  not  made 
with  all  the  comforts  of  a  modern  continental  jour 
ney.  Let  that  pass.  They  were  going  to  their 
chosen  work  ,  and  were  not  expecting  to  be  com 
fortable.  They  were  enthusiastic  and  eager,  she 


ii 


^  Moses"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

just  as  much  as  he.  The  minister's  bride  had  a 
certain  beauty  of  her  own.  She  was  what  Thack 
eray  called  a  'brown  beauty.''  No  doubt  he 
meant  the  quiet  kind  of  beauty  that  does  not 
sparkle  and  scintillate,  but  lasts  a  long  time. 

Compton  had  offered  himself  to  the  B  >ard  of 
Home  Missions,  and  they  had  said,  "Will  you  go 
to  the  Rocky  Mountains?"  Compton  had  re 
plied,  promptly,  "I  will.''  When  he  received  his 
appointment  to  Goldton.  he  little  suspected  that 
the  Board  was  sending  him  to  the  most  difficult 
place  in  the  whole  mountain  range. 

The  ride  over  the  mountain  trail  was  like  a 
dream  to  the  missionary  and  his  wife.  They  were 
both  endowed  with  latent  poetry  of  soul  and  the 
scenery  readily  awakened  it. 

When  at  length  the  trail  led  up  to  a  slight  emi 
nence,  and  let  them  look  down  upon  the  village 
and  the  lake,  with  the  gray  mountains  round 
about,  punctured,  as  it  seemed,  by  a  thousand 
holes,  where  the  human  animal  had  burrowed  for 
precious  ores,  their  enthusiasm  knew  no  bounds, 
yet  simultaneously  came  a  tinge  of  homesickness. 
Indeed,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  we  shall  have 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

to  say  that  when  they  were  alone  in  the  log  inn  of 
Gold  ton,  and  when  the  realization  was  full  upon 
them  that  they  were  actually  on  their  field  of 
labor,  that  they  had  left  behind  friends  and  com 
forts  pnd  privileges  of  the  East,  and  were  really 
shut  in  from  the  world,  they  grew  suddenly  seri 
ous,  and  looked  one  another  in  the  face. 

Every  woman,  and  perhaps  every  man  can  guess 
what  the  young  bride  did.  She  laid  her  brown 
head  upon  the  strong  shoulder  of  her  athletic  hus 
band — and  cried,  for  it  is  every  woman's  privilege 
to  do  this.  It  seems  almost  a  missing  link  in  the 
economy  of  a  man's  nature  that  the  outlet  of  tears 
is  denied  him.  When  he  feels  sad  there  is  nothing 
in  the  world  for  him  to  do  but  just  quietly  to 
bear  it. 

It  would  require  a  book  to  tell  the  full  story  of 
the  work  of  John  Compton  and  his  wife  in  the 
heart  of  the  Rockies.  In  this  brief  sketch  we 
can  only  relate  some  incidents,  calculated  to  show 
in  strong  light  the  talent,  the  tact,  the  consecra 
tion,  the  heroism,  of  the  men  and  women  of  their 
stamp,  who  have  not  counted  their  lives  dear  to 
themselves,  but  have  gone  out  from  the  comforts 


'  Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

and  amenities  of  the  East  into  the  great  and 
rugged  West,  under  the  honorable  title  of  home 
missionaries. 

As  to  the  beginning  of  Compton's  work — well, 
it  was  a  long  time  before  he  knew  that  he  had 
even  made  a  beginning.  The  day  following  their 
arrival,  they  hired  two  vacant  log  cabins.  In  one 
they  were  to  make  their  home.  The  furniture 
was  meager,  for  the  salary  was  meager.  The 
Board  had  said  to  Compton,  "The  best  we  can  do 
is  $600  per  year." 

They  had  bought  a  little  furniture  on  the  way, 
and  the  young  housekeeper  had  brought  an  extra 
trunk  of  small  household  belongings  from  her  own 
home.  Ere  long  it  was  as  cozy  as  taste  and 
economy  could  mak  it.  The  other  cabin  was  for 
the  church  services.  With  his  own  hands'  'Moses" 
—  the  name  was  not  long  in  reaching  Compton's 
ears— made  a  platform,  and  some  benches,  and  a 
rough  desk  for  the  preacher. 

At  all  these  preparations  the  community  looked 
in  silence  There  were  some  who  looked  sullen, 
and  there  was  many  a  threatening  word  heard 
in  the  bar  rooms,  which  might  have  discomfited 


14 


"Moses"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

the  young  minister  and  his  wife.  Happily,  they 
were  unconscious  of  all  this,  and  went  cheerily  on 
with  their  preparations. 

The  first  Sabbath — well,  Compton  afterwards 
said  that  it  was  the  most  disheartening  day  he 
ever  spent;  but  no  one  would  have  guessed  it. 
He  had  that  rare  trait,  the  cultivation  of  which 
Emerson  advised,  "If  you  lack  in  courage,  let  no 
one  know  of  it. "  After  all  his  elaborate  prepara 
tions,  after  the  community  had  watched  his  ar 
rangements  going  on  for  over  a  week,  and  after 
the  entire  town,  not  excepting  a  single  soul,  had 
been  advised  ot  the  services — well,  there  were  just 
three  persons  at  the  first  service,  the  minister, and 
his  wife,  and  one  other  person. 

They  waited  long  past  the  hour,  the  minister 
and  his  wife  occasionally  conferring  together,  and 
the  other  person  sitting  still  in  a  dark  corner  of 
the  cabin,  seemingly  resigned  to  the  situation. 
Then  the  minister  arose  and  began  the  service. 
Would  you  believe  it?— he  never  flinched,  but 
went  through  the  service  as  if  a  large  audience 
were  present.  It  must  be  confessed  that  Compton 
paid  little  attention  to  the  other  person,  who  sat 


,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 


in  his  dark  corner.  It  was  the  first  time  his  wile 
had  heard  him  preach,  which  only  heightens  our 
admiration  for  his  courage.  In  the  early  days,  a 
minister  is  more  afraid  of  his  wife  than  of  any 
other  person.  After  a  while  his  fears  change  to 
pity.  Probably  the  person  to  be  most  commiser 
ated  in  all  the  community  is  the  minister's  wife, 
not  because  she  is  so  closely  watched,  not  because 
everybody  notices  it  if  she  happens  to  wear  last 
year  s  bonnet,  or  notices  it  if  she  happens  to  buy 
a  new  one,  but  she  is  to  be  commiserated  because 
she  has  to  hear  her  husband  preach.  Think  of  it! 
Year  in  and  year  out,  no  relief  even  in  vacation 
time,  twice  on  Sunday,  and  on  Wednesday  nights, 
with  a  score  or  so  of  special  addresses  thrown  in. 
Think  of  it  !  Two  hundred  times  a  year,  for  five, 
ten,  twenty,  thirty,  forty  years.  Other  members 
of  the  congregation  can  find  relief  in  various  ways. 
They  can  come  to  one  service  on  Sabbath  only, 
or  they  can  absent  themselves  wholly  from  the 
week-night  service;  and  then,  there  is  the  vaca 
tion  —  what  an  oasis  of  rest  to  the  tired  congrega 
tion!  But  the  poor  wife  —  rain  or  shine,  summer 
or  winter,  she  must  patiently  bear  it  all  without 


16 


"Moses"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

complaining.  The  marvel  is  that  the  country  has 
not  been  compelled  to  build  asylums  of  rest  sole 
ly  for  the  benefit  of  ministers'  wives.  And  yet, 
some  of  them  really  do  seem  to  be  happy. 

Compton's  wife  was  happy  the  day  of  the  first 
service  in  Goldton.  Mary  Compton's  private 
thought  was  that  she  had  never  heard  such  a  ser 
mon  from  such  a  preacher  in  all  her  life.  What 
a  beautiful  provision  of  the  wise  Providence  that 
our  wives  think  us  so  much  better  than  we  really 
are  !  It  is  the  way  nature  has  of  protecting 
them.  Nature  blinds  their  eyes,  and  saves  them 
from  the  asylum. 

Now,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  John  Compton  was 
not  a  great  preacher  at  all,  and  never  would  be, 
but  he  was  in  dead  earnest.  He  had  a  way  of 
striking  fire  upon  the  anvil  of  the  human  breast. 
He  was  gifted,  not  with  eloquence,  but,  what  is 
far  better,  with  the  power  of  sympathetic  under 
standing  and  of  direct  appeal.  His  text  that 
day,  before  an  audience  of  two,  was  the  ringing 
message  of  Jehovah  to  Moses,  "  Speak  unto  the 
children  of  Israel,  that  they  go  forward."  He 
wanted  to  say  to  the  people  of  Goldton,  if  they 


"Moses"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

had  been  there,  that  this  was  God's  message  to 
them.  He  intended  even  to  intimate  that  he  had 
himself  been  sent  to  say  this  to  them,  and  he 
hoped  that  they  would  receive  the  word  of  the 
L<ord.  The  sermon  could  not  have  been  any 
stronger  if  all  of  Goldton  had  been  there.  Comp- 
ton  threw  his  whole  soul  into  it.  His  wife, 
Mary,  was  convinced,  beyond  a  perad venture  of 
a  doubt,  that  this  was  what  Goldton  ought  to  do. 
The  man  in  the  dark  corner  sat  through  the  ser 
mon  like  the  Sphinx.  When  the  benediction 
was  pronounced  he  shot  out  of  the  house  like  an 
arrow  from  the  bow.  Compton  learned  after 
wards  that  he  was  stone  deaf,  and  a  Scotchman 
besides.  The  latter  quality,  at  least,  would  for 
bid  him  ever  going  forward,  for  Scotchmen  make 
it  a  rule,  generally,  not  to  do  what  they  are  ad 
vised  to  do. 

When  they  reached  their  own  cabin,  John 
Compton  said  to  his  wife,  "  Mary,  it  was  dread 
ful,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"No,  John,"  said  she,  courageously,  "it  was 
the  best  service  I  ever  attended. ' ' 

And  this  was  the  beginning  in  Goldton.     Late 

18 


4 'Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

in  the  afternoon  of  that  memorable  Sabbath  day, 
Compton  excused  himself,  saying,  "  Mary,  I  am 
going  out  for  a  little  walk."  He  turned  up  a 
deep  canyon,  and  then  up  another  that  opened 
into  it  from  the  right,  and  after  half  an  hour's 
climb  he  reached  a  flat  top,  where  above  him  he 
could  see  only  the  gray  peaks  piercing  the  sky, 
and  below  him,  like  a  checker-board,  lay,  spread 
out,  his  first  parish— the  village  of  Goldton. 

In  his  twenty  years'  pastorate  in  Goldton  the 
missionary  came  many  times  to  this  retreat, 
where  God  seemed  ever  near.  So  far  as  he 
knew,  the  foot  of  another  man  never  touched  the 
spot.  There  he  was  alone  with  God.  His  wife 
never  knew  what  he  did  there,  only  she  knew 
that  when  his  steps  turned  towards  the  dark  can 
yon,  there  was  some  burden  on  the  missionary's 
heart,  and  he  went  to  wrestle  alone  with  the 
angel  of  prayer.  When  he  came  down  there 
was  usually  a  quiet  light  on  his  face,  and  an  in 
definable  calm  and  poise  which  lasted  for  hours- 
and  days.  In  after  years,  the  town  came  to  have 
a  tacit  understanding  that  the  missionary's  visits 
to  the  canyon  meant  power  in  the  sermons. 


"Afo-ses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

"'Moses'  is  going  to  the  canyon,"  one  would 
say  to  another,  on  Saturday  afternoon,  as  he 
passed  along  the  street  leading  in  that  direction. 
"  He  will  do  our  souls  good  tomorrow." 

As  this  is  only  a  sketch,  and  not  a  continuous 
narrative,  \ve  are  only  entitled  to  mention  here 
and  there  an  incident  of  the  work  in  Goldton.  It 
could  be  summed  up,  indeed,  almost  in  a  single 
sentence,  like  that  sentence  where  the  apostle 
Paul  tells  of  his  buffetings  and  scourgings  and 
shipwrecks  and  imprisonments.  No  man  or 
minister,  except  it  be  the  apostle  Paul,  ever  had 
a  harder  struggle  than  the  missionary  of  Gold- 
ton  and  his  equally  heroic  wife.  It  would  have 
done  your  heart  good  to  see  how  that  small  wife 
of  his  stood  by  him,  and  encouraged  him,  and 
how  together  they  battled  for  a  victory.  In 
those  days  "  Moses"  went  almost  daily  up  the 
dark  canyon,  usually  late  in  the  day,  and  came 
down  with  the  strange  light  on  his  face,  like  that 
light  which  sailors  at  sea  sometimes  see  playing 
about  the  tops  of  the  masts. 

Goldton  was  dead  set  against  the  gospel.  They 
would  have  none  of  it.  Like  the  unclean  spirit 


20 


1  Moses"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

of  the  Gospels,  they  seemed  to  cry  out  :  "  Let  us 
alone  ;  what  have  we  to  do  with  thee,  thou  Jesus 
of  Nazareth?  art  thou  come  to  destroy  us?" 
One  dark  night  there  was  a  loud  explosion,  and 
in  an  hour's  time  the  cabin  where  the  services 
were  held  had  gone  up  in  flames. 

The  whole  of  the  next  day  the  missionary  spent 
in  the  dark  canyon.  A  week  later  he  had  the 
logs  on  the  ground  for  a  new  cabin,  and  in  a 
month's  time  the  building  was  up.  It  was  half 
as  large  again  as  the  old  one,  and  had  a  churchly 
look  that  the  other  one  lacked.  The  miners 
laughed  in  their  sleeves. 

"He  needs  a  little  more  law,"  said  one,  the 
same  who  had  first  dubbed  the  missionary 
"  Moses,"  and  threatened  to  show  him  the  law. 

"But,  I  tell  you  what,  boys,  he's  got  grit,  ' 
said  another,  whose  eyes  were  just  a  trifle  softer 
than  the  others. 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Hank  !  "  exclaimed  a  chorus 
of  rough  voices  in  the  gambling-hall  where  the 
conversation  took  place ;  "no  weak  knees. 
We'll  drive  him  out  o'  here.  We  want  to  be  let 
alone." 


21 


,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 


It  is  useless  to  say  that  Compton  and  his  wife 
were  not  undisturbed  by  what  they  heard  and 
saw  daily  about  them.  Being  a  woman,  Mary 
was  tortured  by  fear  both  day  and  night.  If  the 
truth  be  told,  the  wife  of  the  missionary  in  these 
hard  places  has  the  heavier  burden  to  carry. 

"  Mary,"  her  husband  would  say,  "the  tide 
will  turn.  I  feel  it  beginning  to  turn  already." 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  the  good  man  was  talk 
ing  for  encouragement,  much  as  a  boy  will  whis 
tle  when  he  is  afraid.  But  no  one  in  Gold  ton 
ever  once  suspected  that  the  breast  of  the 
strongly-built  young  minister  who  walked  up 
and  down  the  streets,  speaking  cheerily  to  every 
passer-by,  occasionally  stopping  to  talk  with  the 
children,  ever  knew  fear.  He  reckoned  that  a 
man  who  did  his  duty  fearlessly  would,  in  due 
time,  at  least  win  respect  —  a  principle  worth 
adopting  anywhere. 

A  few  persons  came  every  Sabbath  to  the  serv 
ices,  but  there  were  no  visible  fruits  of  the  work. 
Some  children  were  gathered  into  Sabbath 
school,  and  the  missionary's  wife  gradually 
gained  the  friendship  of  some  of  the  women,  but 


22 


<%Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

this  was  at  the  risk  of  the  displeasure  of  their 
husbands.  The  miners,  be  it  said,  were  many  of 
them  men  of  intelligence.  Not  a  few  of  them 
were  college  graduates.  In  the  later  times,  when 
the  softening  process  had  begun,  and  one  and 
another  of  these  hardened  men  had  begun  to 
drop  into  the  services,  he  surprised  "Chap" 
Simonton,  one  evening,  by  calling  upon  him  in 
praj  er- meeting  to  read  a  verse  from  the  Testa 
ment  he  held  in  his  hand.  "  Chap  "  arose  and 
read  his  verse  from  the  Greek  Testament. 
''Chap"  told  the  missionary  afterwards  that 
nearly  one-fourth  of  the  men,  like  himself,  were 
college  students  from  the  East.  It  was  in  the 
early  days  of  Rocky  Mountain  migration.  This 
only  intensified  the  missionary's  desire  to  win 
these  men  to  Christ. 

Meantime,  the  dark  looks  continued,  and  the 
hatred  of  the  men  seemed  to  grow  no  less.  We 
may  as  well  relate  right  here  one  or  two  incidents 
that  represented  the  climax  of  the  opposition. 
There  was  a  short  period  about  this  time  when 
the  missionary  thought  that  he  had  better  give 
up,  and  his  wife,  consulting  her  fears,  was  sure 


23 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

of  it.  The  men  had  begun  to  come  to  the  ser 
vices,  but  they  came  to  mock  and  to  disturb.  It 
was  seldom  that  a  service  passed  without  some 
annoying  incident.  One  day  two  men  in  a  rear 
pew  seemed  to  have  a  discussion  during  the  ser 
mon.  Presently  they  arose  and  went  out.  In  a 
moment  shots  were  heard.  Every  man,  of 
course,  carried  his  pistol  in  his  belt  in  plain 
sight,  and  sudden  recourse  was  often  taken  to 
the  arbitrament  of  arms. 

At  the  first  exchange  of  shots  all  the  men  in 
the  rear  left  pell-mell,  and  by  the  time  a  half 
dozen  shots  were  heard,  the  entire  congregation 
had  gone  out  to  witness  the  fight.  Of  course, 
the  whole  affair  had  been  set  up  by  the  men 
themselves.  Incidents  like  this  were  numerous. 
If  the  missionary  flinched,  he  did  it  internally, 
never  externally. 

At  length  the  supreme  trial  came.  You  re 
member  the  deaf  man  who  sat  in  the  dark  corner 
at  the  first  service?  Well,  Compton  had  more 
than  once  thanked  God  for  that  service,  and  for 
that  man.  He  never  heard  a  word  of  the  ser 
mons  er  the  prayers,  but  he  had  seen  the  light 


"If oses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

on  the  missionary's  face,  and  he  believed  in  the 
man.  And  now  there  came  positive  proof  of  the 
Scotchman's  devotion.  One  Wednesday  night, 
after  prayer-meeting,  he  followed  Compton  home, 
and  when  they  were  well  within  doors,  he  whis 
pered  into  his  ear  what  he  had  learned.  He  had 
not  rightly  heard,  he  said,  but  he  knew  it  to  be 
true.  The  gang,  he  said,  intended,  on  the  next 
Sabbath,  to  break  up  the  service,  throw  ' '  Moses' r 
out  bodily,  if  necessary,  and  end  at  once  by  force 
the  gospel  campaign  in  Goldton. 

Compton  listened,  and  was  compelled  to  believe 
that  it  was  probably  true.  For  the  remainder  of 
the  week  he  carried  the  burden  alone,  for  he 
dared  not  tell  his  wife.  On  Saturday  afternoon 
he  disappeared  up  the  canyon.  Sabbath  morning 
dawned — a  perfect  Rocky  Mountain  day,  with 
air  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  the  clouds  no  larger 
than  a  man's  hand.  He  knew  that  the  disturb 
ance  would  not  come,  if  it  came  at  all,  until  the 
evening  service.  In  the  afternoon  the  Scotch 
man  returned  and  confirmed  his  first  message. 
The  gang  was  to  be  on  hand,  and  they  had 
vowed  that  ' '  Moses  ' '  should  never  preach  again 
in  Goldton. 

25 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

Compton  entered  the  pulpit  promptly  on  the 
hour  in  the  evening.  One  glance  over  the  con 
gregation  left  no  doubt  in  his  mind.  Every 
member  of  the  gang  was  present.  There  was 
perfect,  even  ominous  silence.  There  were  only 
significant  glances,  and  the  midnight  on  a  half  a 
dozen  countenances  that  he  knew  so  well  was  a 
shade  darker  and  deeper  than  usual. 

The  first  church  of  Goldton  had  not  yet  been 
able  to  afford  the  luxury  of  a  pulpit  Bible.  The 
missionary  had  long  hoped  that  some  eastern 
church  would  send  them  one,  but  it  had  not 
come  as  yet.  He  usually  carried  his  own  well- 
worn  Bible  into  the -pulpit.  And  now  he  laid 
it  quietly  down  on  the  rough  hewn  desk.  They 
were  watching  him  with  the  eyes  of  hawks. 
Having  laid  his  Bible  down,  he  reached  in  his  in 
side  coat  pocket,  and  took  out  something  else, 
which  he  laid  on  top  of  the  Bible.  Would  you 
believe  it? — the  missionary  had  laid  a  shining 
six-shooter  on  his  Bible.  His  manner  was  very 
quiet,  and  there  was  no  tremor  of  excitement. 
He  had  not  yet  said  a  word.  What  he  did  say 
was  what  he  usually  said  in  the  opening  of  the 


26 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

service,  and  it  was  in  the  calmest  and  most  self- 
possessed  tones  imaginable,  "Brethren,  let  us 
pray." 

When  John  Compton  closed  his  eyes  in  prayer, 
he  did  not  know  but  that  he  might  open  them  the 
next  moment  in  glory,  for  the  hatred  of  those 
wild  men,  who  were  ' '  without  God  in  the 
world,"  was  intense  and  bitter.  Fortunately, 
the  missionary's  wife  was  absent  that  evening. 
She  would  certainly  have  fainted  with  fear.  The 
prayer  passed,  a  simple,  briefly- worded  petition 
for  divine  help  and  guidance  and  for  the  bless 
ing  upon  every  soul  in  the  divine  presence.  ' '  O 
Lord,"  one  petition  of  the  prayer  ran,  "  put  thine 
own  love  into  our  hearts,  that  fear  and  hatred 
may  be  cast  out."  This  was  as  near  as  he  came 
to  referring  to  the  incidents  of  the  day.  When 
the  missionary  opened  his  eyes— no,  they  were 
not  weeping,  any  of  them.  It  might  be  so  in  a 
novel.  They  were  not  weeping,  but  Compton 
was  sure  that  there  was  a  subdued  look  on  the 
faces  of  those  hardened  men.  Certainly,  they 
were  a  very  much  surprised  lot  of  men.  This 
was  a  new  deal  for  a  minister  of  the  gospel  to  be- 


27 


"IfotM,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

gin  his  service  with  pistol  and  prayers  and  psalms 
intermingled.  Not  a  man  of  them  was  afraid  of 
the  missionary's  "gun,"  as  they  called  it  — that 
was  an  every-day  occurrence  ;  but,  somehow,  a 
new  and  strange  feeling  of  awe  before  the  man 
himself  crept  into  their  hearts.  There  was  some 
thing  here  that  they  had  not  reckoned  upon. 
The  service  was  the  most  quiet  and  the  most 
effective  one  yet  held,  and  the  congregation  filed 
out  without  the  hootings  and  bowlings  which 
usually  followed. 

When  Compton  described  the  service  to  his 
wife  at  home,  Mary  burst  out  crying,  and  her 
husband,  the  strain  being  over,  easily  joined  her. 
Then  they  sank  involuntarily  upon  their  knees 
a»nd  thanked  God  for  deliverance. 

Down  at  Forbish's  saloon  the  men  discussed 
the  incident  until  one  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  became  so  absorbed  that  even  the  drinks  sat 
for  hours  untasted.  Their  rough  sense  of  justice 
had  been  appealed  to.  Their  quick  admiration 
for  manly  courage  had  been  touched. 

"  Boys,"  said  one,   "  he's  the  right  stuff." 

"Wasn't    he  quiet  about    it,  though?"    said 

another. 

28 


"A/os^s,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

"Yes,  and  I'm  blamed  if  I  don't  believe  he 
would  have  used  it,  too,  if  he'd  a  had  to,"  said 
another. 

The  upshot  of  it  was  that  there  was  the  begin 
ning,  that  night,  of  the  formation  of  a  little  com 
pany  of  the  men,  with  "  Hank  "  Tomlinson  as 
their  leader,  whose  quiet  purpose  was  to  stand  by 
*'  Moses."  The  tide  was  turning.  The  breast 
of  the  opposition  was  broken. 

We  hasten  to  relate  another  incident  which 
further  marked  the  turning  of  the  tide.  It  was 
at  prayer-meeting.  Few  of  the  men  ever  came 
to  the  prayer-meeting — a  fault  not  confined  to 
the  uncivilized  mountains.  One  of  them  came 
on  this  particular  evening.  The  missionary  was 
in  the  midst  of  the  lesson,  when  the  door  opened 
and  drunken  Sampson  McGregor  came  stagger 
ing  down  the  aisle. 

"Samp,"  as  he  was  called  for  short,  was  a 
great,  brawny  Scotchman,  who  had  come  out 
and  staked  a  claim  up  Bear's  Gulch,  but  nobody 
ever  learned  of  his  working  it.  He  was  too  busy 
pursuing  his  appetite.  They  said  in  Goldton 
that  he  never  ate  at  all,  he  only  drank,  drank 


29 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

morning,  noon,  and  night.  Yet  everybody  in 
Goldton  was  "  Samp's  "  friend. 

Down  the  aisle  he  came,  swaying  heavily  from 
side  to  side  in  the  vain  effort  to  steer  a  straight 
course,  and  sat  down  on  the  front  seat,  directly 
opposite  the  missionary's  wife,  and  almost  in 
front  of  the  missionary  himself.  Poor  little  Mary 
noted  with  consternation  that  his  pistol  hung  in 
his  belt.  She  thought  her  husband's  hour  had 
come.  Presently,  having  finished  his  remarks, 
the  missionary  said,  "  Let  us  have  two  or  three 
short  prayers.  Who  will  lead  us  voluntarily  ?  ' ' 

The  congregation  bowed  their  heads.  There 
was  a  momentary  pause— one  of  those  dread 
prayer-meeting  pauses.  Then  there  was  a  heavy 
shuffling  of  feet.  It  was  evident  to  those  who 
sat  near,  that  "Samp"  McGregor  was  getting 
down  on  his  knees.  It  was  true,  and  in  another 
moment  the  drunken  Scotchman  was  leading  the 
congregation  of  Goldton  in  prayer.  What  led 
him  to  this  strange  act  nobody  could  tell.  After 
wards  no  one  doubted  that  it  was  the  Spirit  of 
God. 

At  any  rate,  there  was  no  stopping  him,  when 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

he  had  once  begun.  Indeed,  as  he  went  on,  no 
one  wanted  to  stop  him.  What  a  prayer  it  was  ! 
At  first  maudlin  and  incoherent,  as  became  his 
condition,  it  gradually  passed  into  coherent  ut 
terance.  The  man  was  actually  ' '  sobering  up  ' ' 
under  the  influence  of  his  own  prayer.  Its  domi 
nant  note  was  that  of  internal  agony.  It  was 
the  man  in  the  tombs  of  our  ford's  miracle, 
wrenching  and  straining  at  his  chains.  Or,  at 
least,  it  was  Jacob  in  the  night-time  wrestling  on 
with  the  mysterious  angel,  not  knowing  that  the 
day  would  ever  break.  But  the  most  pathetic 
thing  about  the  prayer  was  its  tone  of  reminis 
cence.  Plainly,  the  man  on  his  knees  had  for 
gotten  the  presence  of  his  fellow- men.  As  he 
prayed,  the  leaves  of  memory  unfolded,  and  he 
was  living  his  early  life  over  again.  If  it  be  true 
that  true  prayer  is  the  soul's  history,  past,  pres 
ent,  and  future,  the  prayer  of  "Samp"  Mc 
Gregor  well  illustrated  this  thought.  His  father 
had  been  a  minister,  and  this  came  out  in  his 
prayer.  The  white  ' '  kirk  ' '  on  the  hill  came  up 
before  the  congregation  like  a  picture,  as  the 
wanderer  prayed  on.  They  saw  his  father 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

standing  in  the  high  pulpit.  They  saw  the 
plain-faced  mother,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
They  saw  the  children  in  the  Sabbath  school,  and 
the  group  about  the  fireside  in  the  evening  with 
the  catechism  and  the  Bible  verses.  They  saw 
the  Scotch  laddie  scouting  the  hills  of  his  native 
place,  playing  with  his  collie,  rolling  in  the 
heather,  climbing  the  trees,  wading  in  the  brawl 
ing  brooks.  Then  the  picture  grew  dark  as  the 
prayer  wandered  on  and  the  Scotchman's  knowl 
edge  of  Bible  scenes  and  phraseology  seemed  to 
roll  back  upon  him  like  a  flood.  It  was  the 
scene  of  the  prodigal  that  was  picturing  itself  to 
him  as  he  prayed.  "  O  God,"  he  prayed,  "I'm 
doon  amang  the  swine,  and  I've  naethin  left  but 
the  husks.  Gi'e  me  a  leetle  strength,  O  God, 
an'  I'll  arise  and  go  to  my  father,  an'  tell  him 
what  a  fool  I've  been,  and  what  a  sinner." 

After  a  while — no  one  knew  how  long  it  had 
been — the  prayer  ended,  ended  like  a  stream  run 
ning  into  the  ground,  as  by  sheer  exhaustion ; 
no,  rather,  ended  like  a  path  running  up  a  dark 
canyon  of  the  mountains,  and  coming  at  last  to 
a  bright  resting-place  on  the  top  of  the  world. 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

When  "Samp"  McGregor  arose  from  his 
knees  he  was  more  sober  than  he  had  been  in  ten 
years  ;  but  one  thing  immediately  overwhelmed 
him— he  had  disgraced  the  church  of  his  fathers. 
On  this  point  the  missionary  quickly  reassured 
him.  It  goes  without  saying  that  there  were  no 
dry  eyes  in  the  Gold  ton  prayer-meeting  that  night. 
It  is  not  for  us  to  say  whether  "  Samp  "  was  con 
verted  there  on  his  knees  in  the  prayer-meeting, 
but  one  thing  is  certain — he  was  a  different  man 
ever  afterwards. 

The  incident  traveled  through  the  camp  like 
wildfire.  "  'Samp1  McGregor  prayed  in  prayer- 
meeting  last  night,"  was  the  common  greeting 
next  morning. 

"Was  he  sober?" 

"He  was  when  he  got  through,"  was  the  reply. 

Some  laughed,  but  the  effect  of  this  strange  in 
cident  upon  the  Goldton  miners,  many  of  whom 
were  men  of  like  history,  who  had  wandered  away 
from  the  Father's  house,  was  to  bring  a  little 
nearer  that  mysterious  kingdom  of  grace  and  of 
the  Spirit,  whose  coming  is  "not  with  observa- 
vation." 


33 


a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 


The  next  Lord's  day  "Moses"  preached  with 
wonderful  pathos  and  power.  He  never  once  re 
ferred  to  the  incident,  but  every  one  had  it  in 
mind.  To  this  day,  the  sermon  is  spoken  of  in 
Goldton  as  "the  great  sermon.  '  '  At  the  time,  they 
described  it  as  "one  of  his  canyon  sermons."  It 
was  k-nown  that  the  missionary  spent  all  of  Sat 
urday  up  the  dark  canyon.  On  the  Sabbath  the 
mysterious  light  was  plainly  visible.  His  text 
was  that  great  passage  in  Romans,  the  eighth 
chapter,  where  the  apostle  speaks  about  spiritual 
death  and  spiritual  life  :  '  '  They  that  are  after  the 
things  of  the  flesh  do  mind  the  things  of  the  flesh  ; 
but  they  that  are  after  the  Spirit  the  things  of  the 
Spirit.  For  to  be  carnally  minded  is  death:  but 
to  be  spiritually  minded  is  life  and  peace.  " 

Men  are  like  trees,  he  said  to  them,  simply. 
You  have  gone  through  the  forest  and  noted  that 
some  trees  are  dead.  They  are  standing  still, 
and  even  look  very  strong,  but  they  are  dead. 
The  spring  comes  around,  and  you  look  to  see 
them  bud  out  and  grow  again,  like  other  trees, 
but  they  never  do.  They  are  dead.  It  is  this  way 
with  men.  They  die  spiritually  because  of  their 


34 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

sins.  "To  be  carnally  minded  is  death."  When 
a  tree  is  once  dead,  there  is  no  hope  for  it.  It  is 
not  even  fit  for  lumber,  because  the  vitality  is  gone 
out  of  it.  But  it  is  different  with  men  ;  there 
is  still  hope  for  a  man  who  is  dead  in  his  sins. 
God  has  set  life  to  work  to  defeat  death.  Up 
there  in  the  gulches,  or  on  the  mountain  sides, 
he  went  on,  where  you  daily  labor  with  pick  and 
spade  and  drill,  you  know  how  you  have  to  work, 
day  in  and  day  out,  to  "strip"  the  mine,  and  get 
down  to  something  of  value.  Then  a  day  comes, 
a  day  of  joyful  discovery — you  have  struck  the 
rich  vein.  Now,  did  it  ever  occur  to  you  what 
ages  upon  ages  it  took  God  to  get  that  vein  ready 
for  you,  what  working  of  the  mysterious  chemis 
try  of  nature,  so  that  you  might  come  some  day 
and  run  your  drill  in  and  "strike  it  rich"  ?  It  is 
just  so  with  this  gospel  of  salvation.  It  was  a 
long  time  preparing,  but  it's  all  ready  ;  and  you 
can  come  and  live  spiritually,  and  be  rich  spiritu 
ally,  in  this  mine  of  God's  making.  "  To  be 
spiritually  minded  is  life  and  peace."  "If  Christ 
be  in  you  the  spirit  is  life  because  of  righteous 
ness."  So  he  went  on.  As  the  sermon  closed, 


35 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

the  missionary  led  them  to  think  about  being  the 
sons  of  God,  by  true  repentance  and  faith.  "For 
as  many  as  are  led  by  the  Spirit,  they  are  the  sons 
of  God."  Then  he  told  them  how  they  would 
know  that  they  were  God's  sons.  They  would 
have  the  witness  of  his  Spirit  in  their  hearts. 
And  if  they  were  sons  of  God,  they  would  also  be 
heirs,  and  they  would  join  fortunes  with  Christ, 
who  is  God's  Son  and  the  world's  Saviour,  for 
ever  and  ever. 

Thus  he  led  them  up  to  the  mountain  tops, 
and  many  a  soul  in  the  audience  that  day  had  the 
transforming  vision,  which,  in  some  manner,  must 
come  soon  or  late  to  every  soul  that  will  live. 

Then  the  missionary  prayed.  It  \vas  just  a 
tender  leading  of  their  thoughts  a  little  farther  up 
the  altar-stairs  to  the  bright  throne. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "it  is  the  hour  of  decision.  It 
is  the  time  for  some  to  say  what  they  intend  to 
do."  This  was  the  day  the  missionary  had  been 
waiting  and  praying  for  all  of  five  years.  "Who 
will  stand  up  here  among  his  fellow-men  and  say, 
I  want  to  be  God's  son  ?  " 

You   are   hardly  ready  to  believe  it,  but  it  is 

36 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

true — instantly  six  of  those  hardened  miners 
arose  and  started  down  the  aisle,  and  the  mission 
ary  saw  them  coming,  and  went  down  from  the 
platform  to  meet  them,  and  took  them  each  one 
by  the  hand.  It  was  "Hank"  Tomlinson  who 
spoke,  and  there  was  a  tremble  in  his  voice  : 

"  'Moses,'  "  said  he — no  one  in  Goldton  ever 
dreamed  of  any  impropriety  in  using  that  name 
— "  'Moses,' if  you'll  forgive  us,  we  11  ask  God  to 
forgive  us,  too,  and  we'll  stand  by  you  and  God 
through  thick  and  thin." 

This  is  how  the  flood-gates  of  the  soul  were 
opened  in  Goldton.  In  the  mountains  the  snow 
gathers  in  the  winter  and  fills  the  canyons,  until 
with  the  early  days  of  spring  a  thaw  sets  in,  and 
the  waters  begin  to  rush  down.  Winter  had  long 
held  sway  in  the  hard  heart  of  the  miner,  but  the 
spring  had  come  and  the  thaw  had  set  in. 

There  is  no  use  to  follow  the  tale  from  this  on. 
The  saloons  were  not  all  closed,  neither  were  the 
gambling-places  all  abandoned,  neither  was  sin 
wholly  destroyed  in  Goldton.  Such  conditions 
come  not  on  this  earth,  because  the  "new  Jeru 
salem"  has  not  yet  been  letdown.  Nevertheless, 


37 


*' Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

righteousness  and  joy  and  peace  began  to  reign 
there  as  never  before. 

If  anything  had  been  needed  to  cement  the 
camp  in  their  affection  for  "Moses,"  and  to  open 
their  hearts  wider  to  his  ministry  of  the  word,  it 
was  the  incident  of  the  forest  fire,  which  tran 
spired  not  long  after  "the  great  sermon."  In  the 
Rockies  the  "black  beast"  of  the  mountaineer  is 
not  so  much  the  lion  or  the  grizzly,  as  the  dread 
forest  fire.  The  year  of  which  we  write  was  the 
year  of  the  famous  fires  in  the  mountains,  when 
thousands  of  acres  were  burned  over.  To  this  day 
the  sides  of  the  mountains,  in  large  sections,  look 
like  the  masts  of  vessels  crowded  together  in  the 
harbor  In  other  places  the  quaking  aspen  has 
grown  up  in  the  stead  of  tall  pines.  Goldton 
felt  safe  from  the  invasion  of  fire,  because  there 
were  canyons  on  every  side.  For  days  they  had 
seen  great  volumes  of  smoke  rolling  over  the 
country  a  hundred  miles  away.  The  evil  hour 
came  in  the  night  time.  A  miner,  awakening, 
discovered  that  the  fire  was  burning  on  the  moun 
tain  not  over  three  miles  from  the  village.  The 
alarm  was  soon  given,  and  the  people  of  Goldton 

38 


"Afoses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

arose  to  see  their  peril.  Strange  to  say,  those 
hardy  men  of  the  pick  and  the  drill,  who  were 
used  to  almost  every  danger  known  to  man,  who 
would  not  hesitate  to  stand  without  the  twitching 
of  a  muscle  before  the  muzzle  of  a  six-shooter, 
had  no  head  for  this  catastrophe  that  threatened. 
They  were  panic-stricken,  and  there  was  no  leader 
among  them.  In  a  moment  of  confusion,  one 
proposing  this  and  another  that,  a  man  came 
running  down  the  street  of  the  village,  hatless  and 
coatless,  a  pick  in  one  hand  and  a  spade  in  an 
other. 

"  It's  ' Moses,'  "  exclaimed  a  dozen  voices.  It 
was  not  the  first  time  that  the  missionary  had  in 
spired  them  with  confidence. 

"Come  on,  boys,  bring  your  tools,"  he  shouted. 
"We  must  dig  a  ditch  at  the  exposed  place." 

There  were  mountain  streams  on  two  sides  of 
the  town,  but  the  fire  could  easily  break  in  be 
tween  at  the  exposed  end.  With  a  shout  of  confi 
dence,  they  followed  the  missionary,  and  set  to 
work  with  a  will,  his  strong  arms  and  athletic 
frame  bending  to  the  task  as  willingly  as  theirs. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  it  was  a  hard  fight 


39 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  -Sketch 

and  a  long  one,  but  they  won  the  day.  When 
Goldton  looked  out  from  the  charmed  circle  the 
next  morning,  upon  the  charred  country  about, 
they  realized  once  more  that  their  "Moses''  was 
"a  man  sent  from  God." 

Well,  there  is  much  more  to  tell,  but  this,  at 
least,  was  how  the  locked  doors  were  unbarred. 
Five  years  had  gone  by — years  of  untold  faith 
and  toil  and  patience.  In  those  years  the  salary 
stood  the  same.  The  Board  wrote  often  that 
they  would  like  to  raise  it  to  six  hundred  and 
fifty  or  seven  hundred.  "But,  alas!"  wrote  the 
secretary,  "the  churches  in  the  Bast  seem  to  have 
lost  faith  in  home  missions,  and  have  cut  down 
their  gifts." 

If  the  churches  in  the  East  could  only  have 
looked  down  into  the  valley  where  Compton  and 
his  wife  labored  so  self-sacrificingly,  would  they 
not  have  repented  and  made  their  gifts  larger  in 
stead  of  smaller  ? 

In  the  five  years  the  missionary's  home  was 
gladdened  twice  by  the  missionary-box,  prepared 
by  deft  hands  of  the  successors  of  L,ydia  and 
Dorcas  in  some  church  east  of  the  Mississippi. 


40 


"Moses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

What  a  day  it  was  when  the  box  came!  It  was 
like  a  breeze  out  of  some  warmer  clime  to  those 
devoteu  souls  up  in  the  mountains. 

They  never  could  know,  those  Christian  women 
in  the  eastern  church,  how  they  warmed  the 
hearts,  as  well  as  the  bodies,  of  their  brother  and 
sister  in  Christ. 

It  is  only  necessary  to  add  that,  shortly  after 
the  revival  began,  which  dated  from  "the  great 
sermon,"  the  congregation  came  together  to  or 
ganize  a  church  in  proper  form.  They  elected 
three  elders  ;  they  were  Hankin  Tomlinson, 
Sampson  McGregor,  and  the  deaf  Scotchman  who 
sat  in  the  corner  at  the  first  service.  When  they 
came  to  elect  a  pastor,  "Samp"  McGregor  made 
the  nominating  speech,  which  no  reporter  in  the 
land  could  ever  have  reproduced  on  paper.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that  it  was  a  "spell-binder."  He 
began  with  the  day  of  the  arrival  of  the  missionary 
and  his  wife,  and  ended  with  the  day  of  the  fire. 
At  the  end  of  the  speech  he  nominated  a  pastor. 
It  is  needless  to  say  who  was  "Samp's''  nominee* 

Were  they  heroes?  No,  they  were  just  ordi 
nary  home  missionaries,  gifted  with  faith  and 
courage. 

41 


"Ifoses,"  a  Rocky  Mountain  Sketch 

But  this  also  we  know.  If  we  were  writing  a 
supplement  to  that  passage  in  the  eleventh  chap 
ter  of  Hebrews,  where  a  list  of  the  faithful  is 
given,  right  after  Gideon  and  Barak  and  Sam 
son  and  Jephthae  and  David  and  Samuel,  we 
should  wish  to  insert  the  names  of  John  and 
Mary  Comptou,  home  missionaries  in  Goldton  by 
the  grace  of  God,  and  then  we  should  be  even 
more  content  to  read  on  to  the  end:  "  Who 
through  faith  subdued  kingdoms,  wrought  right 
eousness,  obtained  promises,  stopped  the  mouths 
of  lions,  quenched  the  violence  of  fire,  escaped  the 
edge  of  the  sword,  out  of  weakness  were  made 
strong,  waxed  valiant  in  fight,  turned  to  flight 
the  armies  of  the  aliens.  ...  Of  whom  the  world 
was  not  worthy." 


^w^^ 


&u^^ft^M&ftaB<M 


m&.  'TM'.'JkjT'fc  >r» 

j,  ;lrQ(* **'    <f^ -  >^  1^  ^cT^ C  f '  v  r*fe«s Ty  Jj  f^^.C <*''-  A^) ^  vs5  •?>  ^£^f  f  * '-  ^7r^^  \AC 

?*  /f^A^^  .<Q^ ?V* /ft. •  >M^* jtSps ^N  (,    (^M^^/fttP*  r^*:.iy^^ 7 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 

h(- 

'$ 

r 
,   ^A; 

^Mp 

E^aP^ 


i^HH^HBt^iR^'  *  ~ ^ — ^^.^v  T~  *"         .  — '  vC  JA      *%G+~  * 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

<&/£&^S  .   '      '  — - 


&^$z^^3S^ 
'^t^^S^^S^^i&  §i^S?S^&S^^\ 


.- 


